Date: Sat, 21 Jul 2007 14:36:08 -0700 (PDT)
From: Pete Smith
Subject: Bred by Matt -- Chapter 4
BRED BY MATT -- CHAPTER 4
For his part, the young queer sailor lay motionlessly on the floor of the
ship. He had hit the deck with a painful thud after being slapped down by
the angry older boy. He registered a sharp pain in his shoulder where it
had hit the steel deck. Mostly, though, the queer felt shock at his rough
treatment at the hands of the young man standing over him. The 18-year-old
queer sailor had sucked off a handful of fellow sailors on the ship in the
months since the ship had left dock. He had a regular thing going with
another queer on board, but both of them secretly craved getting their
hands (and mouths) on the cocky young straight boys on board. Getting your
queer mouth onto a straight guy's cock, however, was an extremely delicate
proposition. One wrong move could get you a punch in the face and/or get
your queer ass tossed out of the service. Mostly it was "look, but don't
touch" for the queers on board ship who craved straight cock.
The young faggot had learned that his best prospects on board ship were
those young straight guys who allowed him to do little things for them,
such as make their bunks, get them something to drink or give them a
massage. These young guys were being ordered around all the time by their
superiors and they liked the idea of having another guy serve them in a
variety of small ways. Few of these situations ever led to anything more,
though. A select few of those guys, however, got off on having a male who
craved serving their needs. Some of them had had queers suck them off
before and knew that was available if they wanted a hole to get off into
while at sea. Even these guys, though, mostly simply laid passively in
their bunks at night while a hungry faggot went to town eagerly licking and
sucking their hard young cocks. When their aching balls eventually dumped
a huge load of hot straight spooge into the queer's face, it was more like
masturbation to them than having sex with another human being. The
faggots' faces were just receptacles for their ever-ready cumloads.
Matt was obviously different from those kind of guys. Without warning, he
had knocked the faggot to the floor. The young queer wondered whether Matt
might simply beat the shit out of him and leave him broken and hurt on the
floor of the small utility room. If that happened, he knew he would have a
hard time explaining it. Most guys on board ship no doubt would think that
beating up a queer who had come on to them was an entirely appropriate
response. Queers needed to learn not to try to get their fairy hands on a
real man and a hard beating certainly was the best instructional lesson for
such sick motherfuckers.
Ever since he could remember, our queer had been attracted to goodlooking
boys, particularly ones that were confident and athletic. Initially he had
thought his attraction had to do with envy for these guys. He secretly
wished he could be like them: handsome, confident and popular. By the time
he reached puberty, however, our queer came to realize that his interest in
strong, confident young men had actually taken the form of intense sexual
and emotional attraction to them.
The queer intuitively understood that his deep attraction to these strong
young men made him more like a girl than a boy. Ashamed, he never
discussed his feelings with another human being.
Our queer's shame, however, had no damping effect on his emerging libido.
The faggot's dick may have been small, but it seemed to be constantly hard
and needing release from its hormonal stresses. So, although he never
dared trying to act on his intense feelings for beautiful straight boys, he
would pound his little queer pud mercilessly at home in bed each morning
and night thinking about various young studs from school.
His masturbatory attention would typically remained focused on one
beautiful boy at a time. The queer's fantasies about a given older boy
were fueled by some sighting of the guy at school: seeing the handsome
young stud playing sports on the athletic field or getting a brief glimpse
of him in the lockerroom showering or getting dressed.
A few times, our queer had glimpsed one of the objects of his desire
pulling on his white jockstrap in the lockerroom before hitting the track,
baseball or football field. For some reason, this sight always drove our
timid queer's mind and little fag dick into overdrive. On the day of one
of these stud sightings our faggot would retire to his bedroom for the
evening to devote himself to aggressively pounding his rigid little pud
with his queer fist over and over and over. The twisted little queer would
jerk himself off until his pathetic excuse for a cock had shot four or five
loads of faggot snot onto his soft queer belly. Exhausted, only then could
the queer get the older boy off his mind -- and out of his crotch.
The queer's relief never lasted long, however. He would wake first thing
in the morning to find his slight torso covered with the big loads of dried
faggot snot from the prior evening's extensive jack-off session. The
saddest thing, though, was that his little queer dick would always be
throbbing urgently in his crotch, like some sick creature with an
insatiable appetite for something it could never have. On these mornings,
the faggot would quickly beat off two loads in a row before jumping into a
punishingly hot shower and facing the day secretly filled with the shame of
feeling more like a girl than a real boy.
The first time the timid queer acted on his sick feelings was when he was
11 years old. The queer was attending his first scouting camporee.
Camporees brought together different scout troops from the area and always
exposed our pathetic little queerboy to lots of strong, handsome older
boys.
For the duration of these week-long events the younger boys were assigned
an older scout from another troop to act as a "mentor." The older boys
typically were natural leaders who had been successful in scouting as in
their other endeavors in life. It was thought that pairing an
impressionable young boy with a successful older one would supply the
younger boy with a good role model.
For this camporee, the 11-year-old queer was assigned to an older boy named
Steve. Steve was 16 and was a patrol leader in another scout troop. He
not exactly the kind of older boy our queer was attracted to. Our faggot's
tastes always ran to popular, athletic teenage boys who were naturally
charming and beautiful. For such guys, the queer instinctively wanted to
please them and make them happy, like some kind of deeply submissive girl.
Steve wasn't bad looking, but he was short on natural charisma. He was an
amateur bodybuilder who thought a little too much of himself: he was more
narcissistic and overbearing than confident and beautiful. Steve spent a
couple hours each day lifting weights and working out. He competed in
teenage bodybuilding competitions, but could never get quite big enough to
win any major titles. This frustrated the insecure teenager and seemed to
make him a little angry toward others.
One thing our queer did like -- in fact, REALLY like -- about Steve was his
powerful build. Steve's muscles filled out his scout uniform beautifully.
The faggot always had a hard time keeping his eyes off the powerfully built
teenager. He tried not to be too obvious, and assumed that Steve didn't
notice his stares.
Many of the older boys simply ignored their younger charges except for
activities like archery and knot-tying where they were expected to formally
instruct the inexperienced boys. A few took their roles seriously and
tried to provide legitimate guidance and instruction throughout the week.
Steve was in a third category of older scouts: guys who viewed their young
charges as basically personal slaves who job was to make their lives
easier. These older scouts would make the younger boys cook, clean and run
errands for them. Whatever the older guy wanted, the younger scout was
expected to do. As all of this was in the name of mentorship, anything
short of outright physical abuse of these young kids was considered
legitimate.
True to form, Steve had made the younger boy pitch their tent and unpack
his things. Steve informed him that he was expected to stand at attention
and salute whenever Steve came into his presence. Steve made the younger
boy prepare his meals and clean up afterwards. Steve ate and hung out with
a group of older scouts and the younger boy was instructed never to
approach him or talk to him without his permission. The kid noticed that
the other older scouts didn't seem to treat their charges with such
condescension, but he really didn't mind Steve's treatment of him. Somehow
having the older, powerfully build teenager order him around to suit his
own needs actually made the timid kid feel secure. The young queer knew he
didn't fit in with the other boys at the camp. Being told how to take care
of the older boy made him feel like he had a role to fill. As long as he
could satisfy Steve's demands, he could make it through the week.
In their first night together in their tent, our young queer noticed one
other thing about Steve: he didn't like to shower regularly. The younger
boy was required to stand at attention outside the tent while Steve first
entered the tent and stripped down to his boxers and lay down on top of his
sleeping bag. Then, and only then, was the kid allowed to enter the tent.
The tent was not very large and when the queer entered it on the first
night, his nostrils were immediately assaulted by the teenage bodybuilder's
pungent smell. The temperature at the summer camp was in the 80s during
the day and only got down to the 60s in the evenings. Steve hadn't
showered in a couple of days and his powerfully built body reeked. The
kid's first thought upon entering the tent was to turn around and sleep
outside in his bag, but for some reason he didn't.
Trying to hold his breath, the queer stole a glance at the reclining teen
bodybuilder as he crawled toward his own sleeping bag. Even in the dark,
the young fag could see Steve's powerfully built body well. Steve was
laying back on the top of his bag, his broad, muscular, hairless chest and
powerful arms on beautiful display. The young stud wore nothing but his
white boxers. Oh, God, Steve's body is so fucking awesome! the queer
thought to himself. Nervous at being so close to the young stud, the fag
immediately crawled into his own sleeping bag without thinking to take off
any of his clothes except his hiking boots.
Not being able to hold his breath, he began taking the strong smell of
Steve's powerful, sweaty body into his lungs. The evening was warm and the
queer quickly broke out into a sweat. As he stared at the nylon ceiling of
the tent, the faggot noticed something else: his little queer dick was
rigid in his briefs under his pants. With each nervous breath, sweat
slowly dripped from his face and the kid took in more of the young stud's
powerful scent into his own body.
The weak queer's head quickly began to swim.
The kid thought that maybe he was suffering from heat stroke. The young
scouts had been warned about the dangers of prolonged exposure to excessive
heat. The fag felt trapped in his sleeping bag, fully clothed, sweating
and light-headed. His head was telling him he needed to inform Steve that
he was in distress, but he couldn't get his mouth to work.
Very quickly, the queer's head moved through some spaces and he began to
feel a new sensation arising in himself: pleasure. He was still sweating
and light-headed, but now pleasure also began to fill him. With each lung
full of Steve's pungent smell, the queer's mind and body were filled with
erotically charged pleasure. It was a welcome relief from the feelings he
had been experiencing just moments before. Our young queer was naive and
had never done any drugs, but he was getting a high as if he were smoking
some potent pot.
The boy allowed himself to begin to feel relaxed. It was as if his mind
had become a little separated from his body and could tolerate any
uncomfortable sensations because of the high he was experiencing. As he
began consciously taking Steve's smell into his body with deep breaths, the
queer noticed that his dick seemed alive with sensation, too. He felt his
hard little tool gently pulse and begin to leak precum into his tight,
confining briefs. Oh, man, this feels great! he thought to himself.
The queer had lost track of time, but maybe only five minutes passed before
the high induced by the rank smell of teen bodybuilder was interrupted by a
voice seeming to come from a distance.
"Man, I'm really sore from our hike today. Why don't you get over here and
give me a massage so I can get to sleep."
The young queer had a little difficulty getting his smell-stoned head
focused on the sound. The words filled his head, but his mind didn't
immediately register their meaning. He just lay there paralyzed and filled
with the gently pleasurable sensations induced by Steve's now-beautiful
smell.
"Hey, faggot! I'm talking to you. Get your queer ass over here and give
me a massage, unless you want me to beat the crap out of your fairy ass.
Right fuckin' now, asshole!"
To be continued. . . .